Before You Were Forty
by Harmony21
Summary: First in a two part short story, where Merlin muses about the past during the Battle of Camlann.


Before You Were Forty

Merlin stood atop the Sacred Cliffs, staring out at the worst destruction he'd ever seen. He was in the middle of the Great Battle, the War of Choices, historians would call it.

The Battle of Camlann.

Closing his eyes, Merlin returned to happier times, to days back in Camelot, to a world of peace and serenity.

They had been better spent than the last few weeks. Leaning back against the boulder that hid his camp, Merlin allowed himself to leave the smell of death, to remember happier times . . .

Until they had met in the courtyard of Camelot, Arthur had been a spoiled prince, an arrogant young man who thought he was invincible and above everyone and everything.

Merlin helped him realize he wasn't.

And then there was Uther, Arthur's father. The king had been quite a man. He'd not cared for Merlin in the slightest, but when Arthur had gained Merlin as his manservant, Uther began to look to Merlin to keep Arthur out of trouble.

In all, Merlin spent his first ten years in Camelot doing three jobs: helping his uncle Gaius, working for Arthur and saving Arthur from trouble.

After Uther's death, Arthur had delayed the coronation, unsure if he was ready to be king. He was after all, only in his mid twenties.

Merlin was the one who convinced to take the title after reminding him of all the good he'd done Camelot under his father rule.

"You were the one who defied him to do the right thing. No one else would have, they'd have found themselves dead if they had!"

Arthur had smiled at that. "You're right, as usual."

And so he'd taken up his rightful title, and with Arthur as king, Camelot had lost its magical ban, much of the decades-long draught and poverty had disappeared and much to his surprise, Merlin had been crowned the king's right hand man.

The years had passed with only minor scuffles that had been quickly and fairly dealt with. Nothing had really happened until the tenth spring of Arthur's reign. That's when the war broke out.

They had rode out at once. With king and court magician in the lead, Arthur had ordered a full assault. Merlin had created a magical camp that no one save their troop, could find.

It had worked for awhile, until a scout had spotted the magician symbol on the other side of the valley.

Their enemies had Mordred. That had been when things had gone from bad to worse.

"Sir! Sir!"

Merlin's eyes flew open. One of the king's soldiers was running toward him, fear and panic etched onto his young face.

"What?" Merlin grumbled, angry at being interrupted.

"Tis the king, Sir, he asks for you."

Merlin wasted no time and got to his feet. "Show me," he ordered.

Wading through the fighting was no easy task. Finally, the two of them managed to find Arthur among the chaos. The king still possessed the sharp blue eyes that commanded respect and as Merlin knelt next to his old friend, the king turned those sharp daggers to Merlin.

Weak from his injuries, Arthur held out a hand. Merlin gingerly took it, and, unable to cope with what he saw, began to cry.

"Don't," Arthur rasped, his graying blond hair stained copper red. "_Leventium Fagoes Dierie_,"

Merlin shook his head in denial. Deep down, he knew he should never had taught Arthur that phrase. His escort looked at in confusion.

"What does that mean, Sir?"

Sniffing and wiping away his tears, he whispered, "It means 'pass unto thee'."

"But what language tis that? Tisn't Latin."

"Nay," whispered Arthur. "Tis a language of magic and that's all you're getting. Now be off with ye."

Nodding, the young man hurried away.

Now it just the two of them amongst the warriors. Merlin tried to keep the mood light. "You fought well, Sire," he said with a hint of his teenage smile.

Arthur aimed a swat at Merlin's arm. Then, his grimace turned into a smile. "Aye, I did. Now you listen Merlin. Tis the last I shall say and twill be only for you. Carry Camelot. I have no family to do it. Your magic forbids you to die. I henceforth charge you with the care of my kingdom."

"Sire . . ."

Arthur's grip tightened on Merlin's arm. "Please. I will die, but you cannot. Please look after it."

Sensing the end was moments away, Merlin bowed his head. "Aye, Sire I will. Pass well, my old friend."

And so the Great King died, cradled amongst the dead and dying by his friend and sorcerer. The one who would be the carrier of the kingdom.

When his body finally stopped shaking, Merlin gently lay Arthur down and got up, feeling calmer than he had in a long time. He had a job to do now, to stop the pointless war and return peace to Camelot. It was his duty after all, to care for the kingdom for the rest of time.


End file.
